


They Call Me Stuart (That's Not My Name)

by KuriKuri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/pseuds/KuriKuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll have a, uh, medium mocha,” Stiles finally says, squinting up at the drink menu on the back wall. </p><p>“Name?” Douche-y blond guy asks, picking up a disposable paper cup.</p><p>“Stiles,” Stiles replies, grimacing as he watches the guy scribble down ‘Stuart’ on the side of the cup. Whatever. It’s not worth the trouble of trying to get him to change it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Call Me Stuart (That's Not My Name)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [他們叫我Stuart (但那不是我的名字)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175397) by [SeijiShun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeijiShun/pseuds/SeijiShun)



> Yay miscommunication and identity porn! (Also filed under: things that have sort of happened to me, minus the cuteness and happy ending.)

Stiles is practically dead on his feet by the time he manages to stagger through the coffee shop door and to the front counter. Really, he should be used to getting up at six am, but apparently summer has completely undone all of the hard work he’s put into his college sleep schedule. Well, at least he’s feeling better than he did freshman year, when he was under the impression that he could stay up until three am partying and still be functional for his eight am organic chemistry lecture. (Hint: He couldn’t.)

“You’re not on something, are you?” he hears someone grumble, reminding him that he’s spent the last few moments zoning out instead of placing his order.

Stiles shoots the blond, douche-y looking guy a glare. He’s just tired, not _high_.

“I’ll have a, uh, medium mocha,” Stiles finally says, squinting up at the drink menu on the back wall. 

“Name?” Douche-y blond guy asks, picking up a disposable paper cup.

“Stiles,” Stiles replies, grimacing as he watches the guy scribble down ‘Stuart’ on the side of the cup. Whatever. It’s not worth the trouble of trying to get him to change it.

He pays and tries not to get too annoyed when the guy puts his change down on the counter instead of directly into his hand, but it’s fairly difficult. He supposes there’s a reason why this guy got stuck with the very early morning shift. Stiles sighs and makes his way down to the drink pick-up area, leaning up against the counter and pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

He blinks blearily down at the screen before letting out a little groan and shoving it back into his pocket. He’s too tired to focus on much of anything right now. Instead, he finds himself glancing over the counter at where the barista is making his drink – and _hello_ gorgeous.

Stiles decides that it’s _way_ too early in the morning to deal with a shoulder to waist ratio that perfect. Or eyes that multi-colored. Or, you know, all of this guy.

“Mocha for Stuart?” the barista says, glancing over at Stiles, and it’s all he can do not to start drooling.

The barista frowns and squints down at the name scribbled on the side of the cup before looking around at the pretty much empty coffee shop again. Jesus, Stiles is pretty sure it he’s going to completely to mush once he hears the guy call out his name to –

Oh. Wait.

“Shit, um, that’s me!” Stiles blurts out, his cheeks heating. “I’m kind of useless without caffeine, so. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Right,” Hot Barista – Derek, according to his nametag – says, eyeing him skeptically. He hands over the coffee, though.

“Thanks, man,” Stiles replies, smiling weakly. Cleary Derek already thinks he’s a weirdo.

“Have a nice day,” Derek answers, his voice gruff, but it seems at least a little bit sincere. A _little_ bit.

“You too,” Stiles says before hightailing it out of there. He’s pretty sure every minute he spends in the guy’s presence is equal to another embarrassing thing that comes out of his mouth. He’s practically a volcano of awkwardness. It’s a problem.

“Well, there’s another coffee shop I’m never going to again,” Stiles mutters to himself once he’s safely out of the building.

Really, he’s a hopeless case.

\---

He goes back the next morning. Lydia’s right – he’s horrible at knowing when to give up and cut his losses. Maybe he has some sort of humiliation kink, which, yeah, he probably shouldn’t be examining too closely when hot-as-fuck barista Derek is standing less than ten feet away.

“Name?” Douche-y guy – who’s apparently ‘Jackson’ – asks, his tone less than friendly.

“Stiles,” Stiles replies, letting out a little sigh and resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he watches Jackson write ‘Stuart’ again. Maybe he should just go with it, star calling himself ‘Stuart’ or whatever. It would certainly cut down on the awkward explanations he has to give to people on how, yes, his name actually _is_ Stiles, and, no, it’s not his given name, thank you very much.

Nah, he likes it too much to give it up now.

Stiles meanders on down to the drink pick up area again, his hands shoved into his pockets as he does his best to subtly admire Derek the Barista. He’s not being _that_ creepy, is he? And a tough looking guy like Derek would tell him off if he was, right? Then again, maybe he’s so used to people checking him out that he doesn’t notice anymore.

Damn, those biceps, though.

“Here,” Derek says suddenly, thrusting his mocha at him with a scowl and breaking Stiles out of his increasingly vivid daydream.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Stiles replies, fumbling with the coffee cup and nearly dropping it, Derek eyeing him like he’s a disaster just waiting to happen. Which, admittedly, he is, about seventy five percent of the time.

Stiles’ brain screeches to a halt, though, as he realizes that Derek hadn’t called out his name (or, well, ‘Stuart’), but had instead just handed him his mocha. Derek had _remembered_ him.

Of course, now Derek’s giving him an odd look, which probably means he’s grinning like a loon.

“You should get a travel mug,” Derek says suddenly, bringing Stiles back down to earth.

“What?” Stiles replies, not entirely sure what Derek’s trying to tell him.

“You should get a travel mug,” Derek repeats, staring at the paper cup in Stiles’ hand pointedly. “You get ten cents off your drink. It also saves on paper waste.”

“So you like the environment,” Stiles says, berating himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. He sounds so awkward. Then again, he supposes he can’t really be blamed for not being able to function in the face of such hotness.

“It’s my major,” Derek replies, shrugging.

“The environment is your major?” Stiles asks, confused.

“Environmental studies,” Derek clarifies.

Oh lord, please let the earth swallow him up now in order to save him from further humiliation.

“That’s cool,” Stiles replies, now guiltily fiddling with the paper cup in his hands.

Derek nods.

“Right,” Stiles continues when Derek makes no move to say anything else. “I should probably get going now.”

Awkward.

\---

He goes back anyway. _Of course_ he goes back. He blearily makes his way towards the counter and really, it’s hard not to just make grabby hands when he gets there, still too out of it to form coherent words.

“Medium mocha,” he manages, but just barely, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “For – ”

“Stuart, right?” the person at the counter says, making Stiles freeze. He carefully opens his eyes to get a good look at the person addressing him, only to realize that it is not, in fact, Jackson. Instead it’s Derek staring at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher.

“Where’s Jackson?” Stiles blurts out – not that he actually wants to see Jackson again, mind you.

“He quit yesterday,” Derek replies.

“That’s nice,” Stiles says absently, freezing and looking over at Derek with wide eyes once he realizes what he’d just said. “Er, I mean, that’s not – ”

“He was horrible at dealing with customers and even worse at making drinks,” Derek interrupts, and Stiles is relieved to find that his tone is amused. It even looks like he’s trying to suppress a smile.

“So are you single, then?” Stiles asks.

Derek stares at him, clearly taken aback. Stiles frowns in confusion, pausing for a moment to sleepily go through what he just said again, wondering why –

“Shit! I mean, like, is there anyone else working with you during this shift,” Stiles clarifies, and he’s quite certain that his face is now bright, bright red. “Because Jackson’s gone.”

“Are you looking for a job?” Derek asks, raising one eyebrow at him, although Stiles thinks he might see a tiny bit of pink dusting his cheeks. Then again, that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Hm? Oh, no, I already have a paid internship with the police department,” Stiles answers, waving off his question. “I was just wondering who else I’m going to be embarrassing myself in front of before I’ve had my morning hit of caffeine.”

“Well, someone else should be joining me soon, but I don’t know if they’ll be a new hire or someone who already works here and is willing to change shifts,” Derek replies. “There’ll be someone eventually, though.”

“Oh,” Stiles replies, trying not to sound too disappointed about not having Derek all to himself.

Not that Derek is his in any way, shape, or form. They’ve barely talked three times.

“You have a travel mug today,” Derek says, changing the subject as the silence between them starts to get awkward.

“Yep. Go environment. Whooo,” Stiles replies weakly, realizing how pathetically obvious his little crush-thing must be.

“Most people don’t bother when I tell them about it,” Derek admits, and oh my god, he almost sounds _shy_. Stiles majorly wants to cuddle him, but that’s probably not appropriate for a guy who’s a virtual stranger.

“Yeah, well, I only have to buy, like, one hundred mochas to make the purchase financially worth it, right?” Stiles says, smiling wryly. 

Not that he was _that_ broken up about spending ten bucks on the cheapest travel mug he could find at target. Truth be told, he’d probably continue buying all of those mochas, with or without a travel mug, just to see Derek’s face (and other assets) in the morning.

Derek opens his mouth, about to say something, but then Stiles hears someone behind him pointedly clearing their throat. He blushes as he turns around to realize that there’s a woman standing there patiently, probably waiting to order. Well, at least it looks like Derek hadn’t noticed her either, if he chagrinned look on his face is any indication.

“I’ll have you mocha ready in a few minutes,” Derek says to Stiles before turning back to the other customer and giving her his most charming smile. Derek’s lucky he’s pretty, because otherwise she looks like the sort of person who’d give him a strongly worded complaint. As it is, she leaves her change in the tip jar. Lucky bastard. What must it be like to get paid for being hot?

Stiles settles himself near the drink pick up area, bracing his forearms on the countertop and leaning on it, idly watching Derek work. Thankfully, Derek’s too occupied to notice Stiles’ wandering eyes, because otherwise this would probably get awkward pretty quickly. Stiles briefly toys with the idea of arching his back a little more so that when Derek looks up to give him his drink, his ass will be nicely on display, but he discards the idea. He’ll probably just look ridiculous at best.

“Sorry about that,” Derek murmurs as he hands Stiles his drink, glancing over at the other customer, who’s still watching the two of them closely.

“I should be the one who’s apologizing,” Stiles replies, his heart stuttering slightly when their fingers brush as he accepts the coffee mug. “I shouldn’t have distracted you from your work.”

“It’s no problem,” Derek says, shrugging. “It’s normally pretty quiet this early in the morning. People don’t really start coming in until eight.”

“Okay,” Stiles answers, unable to keep a small smile off his face. “I suppose I’ll, uh, see you later, then.”

“Bye,” Derek replies, before going back to make the other customer’s drink.

Stiles goes through the rest of his day with a huge grin on his face.

\---

“So what’s your major?” Derek asks, glancing over at Stiles, who’s swung himself up onto the counter and is sitting there, kicking his legs back and forth. It’s probably some sort of employee or health code violation or something, but Derek hasn’t asked him to move yet. He did roll his eyes, though.

“Criminal justice,” Stiles answers, pausing to take another sip of his mocha. “I swear, my dad nearly laughed his head off when I told him. Said something about how he was glad I was finally learning about the law instead of breaking it.”

“Breaking it?” Derek parrots, sounding like he’s regretting letting Stiles sit on his countertop. Which, you know, he probably should be.

“You know, trespassing, vandalism, grand theft auto, kidnapping,” Stiles says, forcing himself not to grin. “The usu’.”

“ _Kidnapping?_ ” Derek asks, looking seriously concerned right now.

Stiles bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, man, _your face_ ,” Stiles says once he manages to catch his breath again.

“You were joking,” Derek replies flatly, but he still sounds mildly skeptical.

“Um, okay, so no actually,” Stiles answers, smiling a little sheepishly. “But hey, I solved a murder, and I was, like, sixteen so they didn’t charge me.”

“I’m not enabling your mocha habit tomorrow if you don’t start explaining,” Derek says, leaning up against the counter next to Stiles and abandoning his attempts at sweeping the floor.

“Okay, so there was, like, this creepy hermit guy who lived right up next to the woods on the edge of town, and my dad’s the sheriff, so I heard they’d found half a body kind of nearby,” Stiles admits, already launching himself into story mode. “So I was like, ‘Hey, Scott, wanna find the other half?’ – Scott’s my best friend, by the way – and that’s where the trespassing part came in. Because, you know, we were technically snooping around this guy’s property.”

“I guess that’s not too bad – a couple of teenagers messing around in the woods,” Derek says, shrugging.

“Hey, quiet! I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet!” Stiles chastises, and although Derek gives him an annoyed look, he falls silent again. “Anyway, Scott has asthma, and he somehow managed to drop his inhaler, so we were trying to find it in the dark when we _literally_ tripped over the other half of the body.”

“No shit,” Derek says, looking mildly impressed.

“Yeah, we were both pretty freaked out,” Stiles replies, nodding. “And then we heard someone coming our way, so we freaked and hightailed it out of there. Problem was, Scott still didn’t have his inhaler, so we had to go back the next morning to look for it… only the body was also gone. Like, moved gone. And _then_ the guy who owned the property saw us and shooed us away, which was, you know, suspicious.”

“Let me guess, you and Scott decided to trespass again,” Derek snorts, but he sounds kind of amused, so Stiles takes it as encouragement.

“Hell yes we did,” Stiles says, grinning. “We actually went ‘round the house and noticed that there was a spot where the ground looked disturbed – ”

“So you dug it up,” Derek guesses, his eyes going a little wide. “Is that what you meant by vandalism? Please tell me you didn’t actually find a body.”

“Oh, we found a body alright,” Stiles answers. “We called the police, got the guy arrested, but he pleaded not guilty, and, honestly, Scott and I weren’t quite sure if he’d actually done it. See, there was this other guy, Matt, who we thought might have been stalking the dead lady, but he was only a year older than us, so the police weren’t really taking it seriously.”

“Why do I have the feeling that this is where the grand theft auto and kidnapping come in?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

“Because you’re an amazingly smart person?” Stiles says with a grin. “Anyway, we were pretty sure Matt had photos to prove the stalking thing, so we stole a prisoner transport vehicle and I held him in it while Scott dug up the photos. Thankfully they were pretty incriminating, which is probably the only reason I never went to juvie.”

“I’m not so sure my boss would be too happy about me letting criminals loiter around his shop,” Derek snorts, but his tone is playful.

“I’m a paying customer, thank you very much,” Stiles huffs in mock offense.

“You’re much more talkative when you’re caffeinated,” Derek says, his comment a little out of the blue.

“Maybe you’re just easy to talk to,” Stiles replies, attempting to be casually flirtatious. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just you,” Derek snorts, although Stiles thinks he might just see Derek’s ears turn a little pink.

“You already know me far too well,” Stiles says, grinning. “I’m pretty sure my dad entertained the thought of buying me a muzzle when I was a kid.”

“Why didn’t he?” Derek asks, making Stiles let out an indignant squawk.

“I’m pretty sure that’s child abuse,” Stiles grumbles, taking another sip of his mocha.

“You’re the one who’s assaulting people with your voice,” Derek shoots back.

“Please, you love my voice,” Stiles says, winking at Derek.

In fact, it almost, for a moment, looks like Derek’s blushing. Derek opens his mouth to make an undoubtedly snappy comeback, but he cuts himself off as another customer enters the coffee shop and makes a beeline for the counter.

“Sorry, I have to – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off, shaking his head.

“I should probably be going anyway,” Stiles says, hopping down off the counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though, right?”

“Right,” Derek replies gruffly, the barest hint of a smile ghosting over his lips.

Stiles spends the rest of the day humming the most chipper tunes he can think of.

\---

Stiles stumbles into the coffee shop, practically dead on his feet. He’s running on fumes at the moment, having only managed to catch a handful of hours of sleep, because he’d had to stay up late finishing a paper.

Which is why he’s currently staring blankly at the person manning the cash register with only enough brain capacity to think, “Not Derek.”

“Good morning, sir,” Not Derek says, her voice far too upbeat for this hour of the morning. “What can I get for – ”

“Medium sized mocha for Stuart, and don’t forget to give him the reusable mug discount,” Derek interrupts, appearing behind Not Derek out of nowhere.

“Got it,” Not Derek replies, punching buttons on the cash register before looking back over at Stiles. “So you’re a regular?”

Stiles makes some sort of noncommittal noise while holding out his travel mug, nearly dropping it in the process.

“Don’t bother trying to engage him before giving him coffee,” Derek tells Not Derek, clapping her on the shoulder before accepting Stiles’ mug and moving over towards all of the fancy coffee-making machinery that Stiles’ overtired brain can’t even begin to understand, much less identify.

“That’ll be two dollars and fifty-two cents, please,” Not Derek says, and Stiles spends a few moments fumbling with his wallet before producing three bills. “I’m Kira, by the way.”

“Morning,” Stiles finally replies, managing a sleepy smile.

He’s pretty sure he hears Derek let out a snort of laughter in the background. Asshole.

\---

Kira’s pretty awesome once Stiles is awake enough to properly appreciate her. Unlike Derek, she doesn’t complain when he sits on the counters. In fact, she even joins him when things get really slow. Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything on the subject.

“So are you and Derek…?” Kira asks when Derek disappears into the back of the coffee shop in order to restock.

“What?” Stiles replies, confused. He’s already drunk half his mocha, so he should be reasonably awake, but he’s not exactly catching onto what she’s implying.

“Are you his boyfriend?” Kira clarifies, making Stiles’ eyes widen.

“I _wish_ ,” Stiles sighs, laughing slightly. “But, I mean, that would be like a rock getting together with Mount Everest, you know?”

“Kind of?” Kira says, her nose scrunched up as she puzzles through his analogy. “I dunno, though, you’re pretty cute.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles snorts. “Sure I’m kind of cute if you’re into pale and scrawny, but Derek’s practically a Greek god.”

“Well I’m pretty sure he likes you,” Kira counters, shooting Stiles a smile.

“Right,” Stiles says, giving her a skeptical look in return.

“He has your order memorized, at least,” Kira points out, shrugging.

“That’s only because I come in here practically every day,” Stiles grumbles, pausing to take another sip of his mocha. “And anyway, it’s only your first day. I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to psychoanalyze coworkers without knowing them for at least five days.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be saying the same thing in five days,” Kira replies, and Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but then Derek walks back out from the back room and he has to cut himself. He really doesn’t need Derek to hear all about his awkward crush.

It’s really hard not to stick his tongue out, though, when Kira sends him a knowing smile when Stiles nearly falls backwards off the counter and Derek catches him.

\---

Stiles has fallen into a very comfortable rhythm over the past few months, in his coffee shop routine at least. 

Then, of course, he sleeps through his alarm. It’s nearly eleven by the time he stumbles into the coffee shop, and Derek’s shift has probably long since ended.

“I’ll have a, uh, medium mocha – ” Stiles starts, only to startle as the blonde woman at the register lets out a triumphant noise and levels him with a look that immediately sets Stiles on edge.

“For Stuart, right?” she says, barreling on before he can correct her. “I’m pretty sure Derek nearly sent out a search party when you didn’t show up this morning, you know.”

“What?” Stiles replies, because, really? A _search party?_ She’s got to be exaggerating. Derek’s a master of minimalist speaking and stoicism – there’s no way he’d overreact in even the slightest way to Stiles missing his coffee once.

“You _are_ Derek’s Stuart, aren’t you?” she asks, although she doesn’t seem like she needs that much confirmation.

“Uh,” Stiles says awkwardly. “I guess.”

Fuck, he feels so sleazy right now. What’s he supposed to say to her, though? That, yeah, he’s the guy she’s referring to, but he’s been lying to Derek about his name for the past few months? That’ll go over well.

“You should call him to let him know that you’re alive,” she continues, making Stiles stare at her, under-caffeinated and confused. “Give me your phone and I’ll program in his number.”

“Uh,” Stiles says again, feeling a little steamrolled. “Are you sure he’d be okay with you giving out his number to random strangers?”

“ _Please_ , I’ve been trying to get him to finally ask you out for at least a month now,” she snorts, making Stiles boggle. “I’m done with him pining.”

“Pining?” Stiles repeats weakly, watching as the woman snatches away his phone, he fingers flying over the screen deftly.

“Oh yes,” she replies, sounding simultaneously amused and exasperated. “Tell him to thank Erica, too.”

“Okay,” Stiles answers, feeling a little dazed once he finally is shooed away from the register, staring blankly at his phone screen, where Derek’s number is now entered.

He’s pretty sure he spends a solid hour staring at it when he gets home.

Not that he actually calls Derek or anything.

\---

“So I kind of have a huge problem,” Stiles says without preamble as he slumps down onto the living room couch next to Scott.

“Yeah?” Scott asks, looking away from where _Iron Man_ is playing on the TV screen.

“Okay, so you know how I’ve been going to the coffee shop sometimes?” Stiles starts, chewing on his lower lip.

“You mean every day, because you want to ogle the hot barista dude?” Scott teases, giving Stiles a knowing grin.

“Shut up,” Stiles retorts, blushing a little. “Anyway, so one of his friends told me that he might be attracted to me.”

“Then go for it, dude,” Scott says, shrugging. “Why not?”

“He thinks my name’s Stuart,” Stiles grumbles, attempting to glare holes into the carpet.

“Why?” Scott asks, frowning.

“There was this douche who worked there the first few times I came in, and he kept writing my name wrong on my coffee cup, but I let it go because I thought it wasn’t that big of a deal, you know?” Stiles sighs, sinking further into the couch cushions. “But the Derek thought it was my actual name and started telling other people that it was my actual name, and I wasn’t sure how to correct him without making things awkward.” 

“So now everyone thinks your name is Stuart?” Scott clarifies. “Dude, that sucks.”

“I can’t just tell him now,” Stiles groans, leaning over against Scott’s shoulder. “I’ve been lying to him about my name for _months_.”

“Hey, well it started off as an honest mistake, right?” Scott says, patting Stiles on the shoulder. “Just explain it to him.”

“And lose him _and_ my daily dose of caffeine in the divorce? I don’t think so,” Stiles snorts, shaking his head.

“Okay, how about this?” Scott starts, wrapping a comforting arm around Stiles. “I’ll go with you to the coffee shop tomorrow and I’ll tell you whether or not I think he’s likely to get really pissed at you. If I think he’s nice, then you should go for it. If not, you can just not say anything.”

“You do realize that you’ll have to get up at, like, six for this, right, Scottie?” Stiles says, looking at Scott skeptically.

“The things I do for you,” Scott sighs, overdramatic. 

“Aw, you _wuv_ me,” Stiles says, grinning and snuggling closer to Scott. “You better know that I’m not going to wake you up, though, so if you snooze, you lose.” 

Scott rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling slightly.

\---

The next morning is nothing short of a disaster.

“ _That’s_ him?” Scott hisses, gesturing over at Derek. “Seriously, Stiles?”

“I _know_ ,” Stiles sighs, downtrodden. “I don’t have even the slightest chance, do I?”

“Dude, he looks like a fucking _serial killer_ ,” Scott says, making Stiles give him an affronted look – on Derek’s behalf of course. Not that Derek doesn’t look at least a tiny bit serial killer-ish, Stiles must admit. “He’s gonna _murder_ you if you ask!”

“I thought you were here to be supportive!” Stiles whines, frowning at Scott.

“That was before I knew he could probably crush my face in with one hand!” Scott protests, flailing a little.

“Dude, seriously, he’s not that bad,” Stiles says, placing a hand on Scott’s lower back in order to steer him towards the register. “He has, like, this marshmallow center, okay? He has this whole campaign about saving the wolves and shit.”

“Yeah, because he probably _is one_ ,” Scott hisses, glancing over at Derek nervously. Stiles rolls his eyes and practically shoves him towards the counter. At least Kira’s working the register today, with her bright sunshine-y smile. Hopefully that’ll calm Scott down a little bit.

“Hey, Stuart,” she says, already reaching out to accept his travel mug. “The usual, I’m guessing?”

“And a medium caramel latte,” Stiles adds, because Scott had insisted on Stiles paying for his drink if he was going to get up at six am to help him solve his Derek issue. “This is Scott, by the way.”

“Oh,” Kira says, her smile suddenly looking strangely forced. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”

“You too,” Scott replies, giving her his most charming puppy dog smile. Stiles narrows his eyes and elbows Scott lightly in the side, because he’s supposed to be helping figure out the Derek situation, not flirting with Kira. Even though they’d make a _disgustingly_ cute couple.

Stiles pays for their drinks and does his best not to roll his eyes.

“Hey, Scottie, I need to introduce you to Derek, too,” Stiles says, linking their arms together and dragging Scott over to the drink pick up area.

“ _Stiles_ , I don’t – ” Scott starts, but Stiles cuts him off with a loud, chipper, “Hey, Derek! How’s it going?”

Unfortunately, Derek just grunts noncommittally, not even bothering to look over at Stiles from where he’s making the drinks.

“This is Scott,” Stiles continues when Derek makes no further move to contribute to the conversation.

Derek growls something which might be ‘hello,’ but Stiles can’t really tell. Things don’t really go much better from there. For some reason, Derek will hardly say more than one syllable, and he purposefully avoids Stiles’ eyes when he hands over the drinks. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never felt more cold-shouldered in his _life_.

“Let’s get out of here,” Scott mutters, leaning in and pitching his voice low, probably so that Derek won’t hear him.

Stiles nods dejectedly, only sparing one glance backwards as he follows Scott towards the door. Derek’s already disappearing into the back room.

\---

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says, forcing an upbeat attitude, as he walks into the coffee shop the next morning. “How’s it going?”

“I would have backed off if you told me I was making you uncomfortable,” Derek says, completely out of the blue.

“What?” Stiles asks, confused.

“The flirting,” Derek clarifies – not that he’s really clarifying much, because _what?_ When exactly was Derek flirting with him? “I’m not going to murder you if you reject me.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Stiles says, frowning and moving closer to lean across the counter, Derek carefully avoiding his eyes all the while.

“Look, I know you made up a fake name, okay?” Derek sighs, running a hand through his hair. Stiles is suddenly struck by how tired he looks, prominent shadows under his eyes. “You could have just told me that you weren’t interested or that you had a boyfriend and I would have backed off.”

“Wait, you’re not talking about Scott, are you?” Stiles asks, his eyes widening. “Dude, no, he’s like my brother.”

“You’re not – ?” Derek says, looking up quickly and finally making eye contact with Stiles.

“Fuck no,” Stiles answers, folding his arms over his chest a little self-consciously. “And, uh, for the record, you’re wrong about the flirting, too. So. You know. Flirt away.”

“Look, I already told you that I’m not going to do anything to you if you ask me to stop,” Derek replies, his tone harsher. “I’m not going to hurt you, contrary to what your friend thinks.”

Stiles stares at him, unsure what to say for a few moments.

“Dude, no, I didn’t – it was an accident, okay?” Stiles sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you.”

“Which is why you kept telling me that your name was Stuart,” Derek replies, deadpan.

“Okay, first of all, I never actually told you that that was my name,” Stiles protests, jabbing a finger at Derek. “And for the record, this only happened because that douche who used to work the register kept getting my name wrong and I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but then you started using it and telling everyone else that it was my name!”

“Well then why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Derek snaps, although he sounds more hurt than angry.

“I don’t know! By the time we got to know each other it was at the point where it would be awkward for me to try and correct you,” Stiles replies, scuffing the toe of his shoe across the wood floor.

“Oh,” Derek says awkwardly.

“So, you know, it wasn’t because of the flirting,” Stiles continues tentatively, a little nervous. “Go ahead and continue flirting if you want.”

A complicated, unreadable look passes over Derek’s face.

“Or we could just go out to dinner sometime,” Stiles says quickly, his face flushing. “So I can, like, apologize for lying to you and stuff.”

Derek still looks mildly dissatisfied.

“Or it can be a date!” Stiles finally adds, flailing a little bit.

“A date sounds good,” Derek says after a beat of silence, and it takes all of the self-restraint Stiles has to not leap for joy.

“I’m Stiles, by the way,” Stiles says, smiling slightly.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Derek replies, smiling back.

**Author's Note:**

> _I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site._


End file.
